


Set Fire to the Stars

by cryptonym



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Duelling, M/M, Smut, Wandlore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptonym/pseuds/cryptonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Lie Low at Lupin's" - Over the course of the summer, Sirius and Remus discover things they thought they had lost forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Fire to the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the RS Games 2014. Title is taken from the last line of Dylan Thomas's Love in the Asylum. I was far too nervous about writing this, and I'm eternally grateful to my beta playing_perfect for *everything*
> 
> And, woah, I _just_ noticed that the original post at Dreamwidth missed off the last 2k or so words. Eeeek! If you read this there and thought it ended ridiculously abruptly, that'll be why!

_\- “Clouds of black birds rose up wailing and screaming, like the thoughts of my heart.”_  
~ Mary Renault

It is a grey and melancholy day with no sign of summer. I stand watching from the cottage garden as Padfoot races across the fields. The blackbirds rise up from their scavenging; scattering and squawking at the disturbance, accompanied by Padfoot's aggressive barking. Sirius been here a few days and I am already getting used to him spending most of his time in his Animagus form. He is, as they say, not himself.

I turn away, pulling the washing from the line. Sirius always used to mock my Muggle ways, but old habits die hard and my mother was adamant that, no matter what, some things are better without magic.  
As I take the last sheet from the line, the first drop of rain falls, landing on my cheek. Like a tear from heaven - my mother's words. I seem to be getting ever more like her in my old age. Perhaps that's why Sirius looks at me with such confusion so often these days.

I hurry inside, clutching the clean sheets to my stomach. Wafts of fresh, clean linens rise up in vindication for my folly, and the big fat raindrops give way to a torrent, leaving the door open behind me so that Padfoot can race in without needing to transform back into Sirius.

I'm standing in front of the ancient stove making supper when the pungent smell of wet dog reaches my nostrils. Padfoot's nails click-clack against the flagstone floor. I drop my hand, stretching out my fingers and he pads over to my side, leaning his wet head against my thigh, letting me scratch his ears.

"Alright, Padfoot?" I ask.

He whines and slopes off again.  
By the time the casserole is ready, Sirius is dry and dressed and he comes to help me set the table.

The silence between us is stifling, and I feel the clatter of cutlery down to my bones.

"Bread?" I ask.

Sirius nods and I cut two thick wedges, slicing them down the middle. Sirius is a slave to butter it's almost half and half. He dips it in his bowl, soaking up the sauce.

I don't know what is in his head. I never had that direct line. That was always James. Either of them could say a single word and the other would know what they were thinking. I learnt some of their mad, brilliant short-hand, but it was always different between the two of them. I'm not sure if I want to know, now. The fact that he spends so much time as a dog can't bode well for the state of his human mind.

Two more disparate souls one never met. How did we knit together? Once upon a time...

"I can't do it," Sirius says, apropos of nothing, the harsh roughness of his voice startling me from my thoughts.

"What... what can't you do?" I ask, unsure if he's talking to me or rambling the way he does sometimes. He glances up at me as if he hadn't realised I was there - most likely the latter, then. His eyes sharpen, it seems like the first time I've seen him truly lucid. He frowns, putting his crust down on the table, scattering crumbs.

"Magic."

I'm actually baffled for a moment. It seems so ridiculous. We were born with magic after all and... "you can become Padfoot without any problem."

He nods. I don't think he's going to speak again, but then he says, "they didn't know about that."

"Ah," I take another bite, forcing it down. I don't know - he hasn't told me - what it was like for him in Azkaban. Most of the time I try not to think about it, but I can't stop seeing it in his eyes.

"I thought it would go back to normal."

"Your magic?"

"Yes."

I close my eyes and take a breath. "What does it feel like for you?"

His head droops, his bony shoulder blades push up the fabric of his shirt - my shirt, far too large for him. I can see the knobbles of his spine past the gaping collar.

I wait for him to answer, but when he looks up again it's with a barely restrained fury.

"It doesn't matter."

I know that tone of voice and that look - he's humiliated, lashing out in anger.

"Sirius, that night at the Shrieking Shack, you used a wand then, it was fine. You were absolutely fine."

"Yes," he says, his face twisting into a frightening mask. "Wormtail." At the name sparks fly from his finger tips, his bowl cracks, leaking sauce on the table, and a dreadful burnt flesh aroma fills the air, though Sirius seems unharmed.

"Do you still have a wand?" I ask. I've lost my appetite, I can't get rid of the scent. "The one you used that night?"

"It wasn't mine," he says and I have to suppress a laugh - as if he could have possibly been in possession of a wand that belonged to him at that time.

"I know, I was just curious."

"I could hardly leave someone else without a wand, could I?" he snaps.

I don't believe him. Not that he doesn't have his altruistic moments, but his sense of self-preservation is far greater. Something is very wrong. It kicks my practical side into action. "Then we need to make you another."

Sirius looks startled and then, unmistakably, afraid. The shift from human to canine happens in the blink of an eye. Padfoot jumps down from the chair and disappears out of the kitchen door.

"My cooking isn't that bad is it?" I call after him.

*

I'm pondering our conversation as I rifle through my workshop bookcase for the book on wand making and repairs I have hidden away there. I've had to use it a few times over the years for repairs - there are a number of things it is better to know how to do yourself, as a werewolf, if they are to be done at all.

I find it - a thin volume despite the complexity of the magic involved - and return to the sitting room to read.

Padfoot is curled up on the rug by the fire that he seems to have claimed for his own. It suits me, I have my father's wingback chair and side table, with a cup of tea kept warm with a charm. It is almost as it ever was, with the addition of the sighing animal at my feet.

I know he is anxious. I'm sure he has reason to be. Magic is so inherent, it flows through our veins. If I close my eyes and concentrate I can feel the low thrum of it, always there, the matter of focusing it for some purpose is second-nature now, but first I had to learn...

A satisfying sense of purpose has taken hold of me. I start making mental notes of things I need to do.

Choosing the wand wood should be a fairly simple process. There is a large forest nearby - part Muggle, part enchanted with a good selection of trees to choose from - I shall take Padfoot for a walk there tomorrow, if I can't coax Sirius out.

But now it is time for bed.

I close the book and place it on the side table. My knees complain as I rise from my seat, grinding and popping alarmingly. Even so, I am feeling a youthfulness I haven't since my position at Hogwarts was terminated. It's good to have purpose again.

"Are you coming up?" I ask. Padfoot's eyes open and fix on me, but he doesn't move. "You don't have to if you're more comfortable where you are." I leave him lying by the hearth.

Lying in bed, my thoughts turn to Sirius and the way his shirt gaped. The wonder is that the years haven't dimmed my desire, and having him here has woken this dormant thing, that sleeping wolf in the recesses of my brain. This in spite of how little I see of the man.

It's like being back at Hogwarts, always wanting. Only back then sometimes I got... not that it meant anything. Sirius liked risk, loved danger. He liked to flaunt it under the noses of everyone in the Gryffindor common room, his hand on my leg and that was enough to get me hard in those days. Then later he'd let me rub against him or we'd jerk each other off until I couldn't remember why it was wrong any more.

I want to skim my fingers across his skin and feel the tingling magic in each tattooed symbol that adorns his skin. I long for him with an intensity that rivals the pull of the moon. I want to fuck him like we did in every room of the house he bought with his dead-gay-Uncle-Alphard's money.

Most likely sex is the furthest thing from his mind. But it is with thoughts of his thin, scarred body underneath mine that I bring myself off.

Some time later, as I am drifting close to sleep, there is a whine outside my bedroom door. I jerk awake, on full alert. Another whine - I didn't imagine it. There must be something wrong. I know Sirius has been having trouble sleeping but he hasn't come to me before, even as Padfoot.

I get up, the bare floorboards creaking under my weight, an unnatural stillness in the air, and open the door.

"Come on then," I say, smoothing my hand along his back.

Padfoot steps over the threshold with one paw and regards me, his head hanging low, he whines again.

"It's alright, Padfoot."

He slinks in, sniffing his way around the room. He hasn't been in here before. When he first arrived Sirius looked in when I told him it was my room and then carried on to his own. Now, Padfoot sniffs the corners, finding the one where the wolf usually curls up during the nights of the full moon, clawing at the bare floorboards, turning in circles before settling down.

It won't do. I pull the spare blanket from the top of the wardrobe for him. He settles down again with a great sigh. I can't tell if he's happy or sad, but he's more comfortable at least.

I get back in to bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and trying not to wonder if Padfoot can smell the evidence of my earlier wank. I know that he can, there is no point in wondering. It is just the guilt of the accompanying thoughts making me anxious.

Finally I sleep.

~*~

Overnight the weather takes a turn for the better. The sun is bright and high in the sky by the time we are ready to go. Padfoot has been racing from room to room, aware that something different is happening but not quite sure what. I wish to God Sirius would spend a little time as himself, even if just to ask what I'm planning.

I've packed a lunch and my book and a gift in thanks. Finally we are ready, Padfoot bouncing by the door, yipping excitedly.

"Alright, off we go."

The enchanted woods are dark, full of magic that makes my skin prickle and raises the hairs all over my body. It is not an unpleasant sensation, a little like a ghostly caress, perhaps. The leaves whisper in the breeze, though it doesn't reach us. There is a dank, dark smell - damp earth and leaf mould. And I can hear the trickling flow of a small stream, hidden from view but close enough for swarms of midges to be in evidence.

Padfoot lopes off ahead, sniffing here and there, cocking his leg against anything that takes his fancy. I remember the first time he did that, how _embarrassed_ I was. The purely animalistic nature of it crawled under my skin, making it itch in a strange and uncomfortable way, and I had to turn away. Of course, Sirius being Sirius thought it was hilarious.

According to the book the subject will be attracted to the wood that most suits them, some sort of subconscious connection. I watch Padfoot sniffing about at the bases of trees and try to discern any pattern to his marking... if the lore involved can even be applied when the subject is in Animagus form. The Animagus transformation causes physiological changes that can't be ignored and clearly Padfoot can't use a wand, but he does have magic, that much I do know.

We stop for a late lunch in a bright clearing, Padfoot shows no sign of transforming, and I don't push him. Besides there is something soothing about feeding him food from my hand, and he seems to like it as well, sitting by my feet, his head on my knee, his eyes following the movement of my hand or rather the food in my hand.

Half an hour later we are back to our meandering when he catches the scent of something and goes haring off after it. It could be anything, knowing Padfoot, but I'm worried in case it is one of the more vicious creatures that haunts these woods.

I lift my head, using the senses I so rarely employ. I can feel the wolf in me, rising up closer to the surface. Everything changes when I give this side of me even a little bit of space. Everything opens up - these woods are no longer filled with dark mysterious obstacles. Scent trails weave their way along the many paths, criss-crossing at various points. Padfoot's is strong and fresh over so many others. The sound of _everything_ crashes down upon me, until I focus on the one thing I want to hear.

His bark rings out, loud and clear. With my human form the going is slow, at least I don't have to stumble blindly around. But still I hate that he's made me do this.

He hasn't gone far, there is a tight ring of magical trees, the like of which I have never seen before and he is running around inside it, barking and wagging his tail.

My heart is racing. "You stupid mutt, what are you doing in there?" Everyone knows the rule: never step inside a magic circle of any description without knowing who made it and what it is for. This circle of trees is no accident.

When he sees me Padfoot bounds towards me, barking joyfully.

"Stay!" Panic makes my voice sharper than I had intended, but it does the job, Padfoot stops in his tracks, head lowered looking at me with doleful eyes. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what will happen if you pass out of the circle."

He sits then and it looks as though he is grinning at me, panting slightly, his doggy tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

It's natural magic, from the earth. Padfoot shuffles down into a lying position, watching me chase my own tail. I should have realised that a creature like Padfoot would know the difference. He seems to sense my re-evaluation of the situation and jumps up. I expect him to come bounding over, but instead he goes to one of the trees and burrows around in the exposed roots. I watch, but something keeps me outside the circle. Not physically, it's just a sense that I have of this being something Padfoot has to do.

He backs out and finally comes to me, stepping outside the circle with not so much as a ruffle of his fur. He has a piece of wood in his mouth, which he deposits at my feet. I bend to retrieve it and he wags his tail once.

I pick the piece of wood up and turn it over and over in my hands. It's a dark wood, almost black, heavy but surprisingly springy. I glance down at Padfoot's expectant expression. "Fetch?" I ask, pulling my arm back, ready to throw, but he growls and yips.

"Good boy," I say, unthinking, and he opens his doggy mouth and pants loudly, wagging his tail. He whines and nudges my free hand with his wet nose, and I remember the gift. Padfoot takes the ball, a favourite that I dug out of my old toy box for him, and places it at among the roots of the tree which provided the stick of wood, and then he bows, his front paws together, head down, haunches high in the air.

The trees rustle and sigh and then fall silent again.

I didn't expect it to be so easy. Perhaps Padfoot really understands what I want.

Now, as Padfoot lopes back across the boundary of the circle to me I think I might be able to see Sirius in his eyes.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle uncomfortably and I rub them away.

"Come on, Pads, let's get out of here." The wind has risen, rustling the leaves of the trees and I think it might have started raining again, if I'm not mistaken.

~*~

At last Sirius is choosing to spend some time in his human form. I'm not sure if that's not even more unnerving, to have a brooding man observing me, now that I'm more used to sharing my home with a large dog.

My mother's workshop is exactly as it was when she was alive. She was the one who taught me how to work with wood.

"Am I distracting you?" Sirius asks, as my chisel slips and I narrowly miss stabbing myself.

"No," I lie. I don't want him to change into Padfoot again or disappear to brood alone. And strange and uncomfortable as I feel, the thrill of having him near is stronger. I can feel him studying me as I work.

"Why are you doing that like a Muggle?" he asks.

I can't help smiling. "Because I enjoy it," I say. That doesn't even begin to cover how it feels to take something unformed and to bring out its potential. I could see the shape of the wand before I started work, it was just a case of revealing it.

I hand the rough wand to Sirius, who turns it over in his hands. "It's very long," he says and then he grins like the bawdy teenager he once was. "You always did like things on the large side."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, well, the idea is to see how it feels and adjust it. I can take length away easily enough, but it won't be the same if I have to lengthen it with magic. I want the integrity of the whole piece of wood. Try it out," I say. "Give it a swish."

I am a thoughtless bastard. Sirius is shaking, I can see the way his fingers tremble and I know that, unless I do something, he'll go back to being Padfoot. Then who knows how long it will take him to trust me enough again.

I put my hand over his, steadying his grip and demonstrating a simple swish and a flick, saying, "Obviously it's not finished yet, but you get the idea."  
I feel his tension ease just a little. He darts a look at my face, licking his lips. His anxiety is still there, lurking in the depths of his eyes. The only time I had ever seen that expression before was in relation to his family. I tighten my hand around his. He is looking at me again, but his eyes don't flicker away, they hold mine.

I feel the flare of magic and I don't know if it's from him or me, or both, but it sparks in us both and for a moment I think something will happen, but then Sirius opens his hand and the wand clatters to the ground.

I take my hand away from his slowly, bending to pick up the wand.  
"Yes, I think a couple of inches off," I say to break the tense silence that is swallowing us both.

I go back to work.

"I'll make some tea," Sirius says.

I don't say anything to his retreating back, but I can't stop myself from raising my eyebrows. He was always too impatient to make it the Muggle way, but magic is out of the question at the moment.

The desire has to outweigh the fear.

~*~

  
I finish shaping and sanding the wand the next morning. From here on in I need to use magic to complete the wand. And I need to solve the problem of the core.

The house is silent when I let myself in from the workshop. I can tell that it is an empty silence. Sirius isn't here. I move through the house to the front door.

Padfoot is out there, chasing birds again. I hope this isn't a setback.  
As though he can hear me sigh, Padfoot stops and turns back to the cottage, his head cocked on one side. I wrestle with the idea of calling him, but I'm not his master.  
I go back into the house and put the kettle on for tea.

Sirius joins me a few moments later.

"How is it going?" he asks, sitting down. He smells wind blown and of the fresh tang of sweat.

I lift my cup and inhale the scent of darjeeling and honey to distract myself from the sudden and overwhelming desire to push Sirius down over the table and fuck him.  
"We need the core element before I can go any further."  
The clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly. I count twenty-three ticks before Sirius says, "What do you need me to do?"

I finish my tea and place the cup back down on the saucer. This was my mother's every day tea set. Her best is displayed on the dresser behind Sirus's head.

"Do you have any feeling about the core you want?"

Sirius shrugs and pours himself a cup of tea. He drinks it black. "Does it really matter? We don't have access to the better quality cores, we'll have to make do."

I feel my face heat up. Money never meant anything to Sirius. For the first sixteen years of his life he had it in great abundance. When he left home he lost everything for a few hours. But when he went to live with the Potters he returned to the life of luxury once more - not that the decision had anything to do with money. When his uncle died, leaving him everything, Sirius became independently wealthy. He still is. He just can't access his money at the moment.  
So when he says that we can't get the better quality cores, I know what he means is that _I_ can't afford to purchase anything worth bothering with. It stings, though I know he doesn't mean it to.

"I have an idea," I say, pouring another cup of tea and adding honey with the twizzler my mother made. "I'll need to go away for a couple of days."

Sirius stops brooding at his tea cup for a moment. "What? Where?"

"Hogwarts," I say, simply.

"I'll come with you," Sirius replies.

I suppress a smile. "I don't know, I'll need to travel by Muggle transport. If you do come it will have to be as Padfoot, on a lead."  
He gives me a filthy look. "You don't need to look so happy about it."  
I laugh. "You don't have to come. But if you do, I expect you to obey my every command."  
Sirius pushes his cup away. "You're not funny, Moony," he says. But there's something in his tone that suggests amusement. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but he seems far more relaxed than he has since he's been here. "Besides, there's no need for all this when we have Buckbeak." He grins that sly smile I remember so well. My heart trips and stumbles.  
I had forgotten about the Hippogriff. I didn't realise he was still with Sirius. I haven't seen him since Sirius has been here, at least.

"Where is he?" I ask.

"In the forest," he says as if it should be perfectly obvious.

It doesn't take much preparation for either of us to be ready for our trip. I pack my old satchel with essentials - sandwiches, a thermos of tea, a little money (both Muggle and wizarding), a change of underwear and spare socks. One cannot underestimate the importance of having spare pants and socks. Wearing the same ones for day after day is revolting and I don't enjoy the feel of being without, unlike some. I hang a brace of rabbits from the strap.

Sirius doesn't prepare at all, but I give him the travelling cloak that used to belong to my father.

~*~

When we arrive in Hogsmeade it is late. I could do with a hot butterbeer, but I want to get what we came here for.

Buckbeak vanishes into the forest. I look at Sirius, with no idea if we've just lost our ride home. He looks supremely unconcerned.

"Well, where are we going?" he asks.

I scent the herd, not far, and point the direction to him. We walk in silence, though I can feel Sirius's unspoken questions.

We reach a clearing and Sirius stops in surprise. "I thought you might be trying to find a unicorn." He laughs. "This makes far more sense."

A couple of thestrals raise their heads, sensing us close by.

"You'll need to do the next bit by yourself," I say.

Sirius turns and looks at me. "You always planned for me to come, all that rubbish about going away was just to make sure I wanted to come along. You are a sneaky bastard, Moony." Sirius is laughing. He takes the brace of rabbits as an offering.

I lean back against a tree, the scratch of the bark rough against my travelling cloak. Sirius is approaching one of the thestrals as an old friend, and perhaps it is. The rest of the herd smell fresh meat and come to investigate. He's soon surrounded, laughing.

Five minutes later he has dispensed of the brace of rabbits and returns to me.

"Friends of yours?" I ask.

He grins. "We've met before, yes." He takes my hand and my heart pounds as he puts the thestral hair he's taken into my palm, closing my fist over it. "Don't lose it." He holds my gaze.

"Good," I say. I have to swallow and lick my dry lips. His eyes flick down to track the movement and heat flares in his eyes. I wait... expectantly, but Sirius turns away to look at the herd.  
"We should go," he says, giving the high piercing cry that calls Buckbeak  
It's not until I wrap my arms around Sirius's waist that I realise I am still clutching the thestral hair. I am so thoroughly... discombobulated by Sirius and how he makes me feel. He is warm and alive in my arms and it's really not that long since I would have pressed suggestively against his backside and whispered filthy nothings in his ear. He always did like it when I let my mask slip, and it was harder to maintain when he was around.

By the time we arrive back at the cottage I am exhausted, leaning against Sirius with no thought of anything other than sleep, as soon as possible, in my own warm bed.

Buckbeak drops us off in the garden then flies off into the night.

I place the thestral hair in an empty keepsake box, throwing off my clothes and collapsing onto the bed.

Five minutes later there is a whine and a scratch at the door. I can't move. "You can come in, Padfoot," I call from my prone position. Thoughtlessly, I pat the bed. Silence. Then the startling jolt of Padfoot jumping up on the bed. He flops down over my feet.

"Lump," I say, into the darkness. But the weight of him is comforting.

~*~

My feet are still asleep when I try and get out of bed, which is the price one pays for sleeping with an enormous dog over them. Padfoot is stretching, yawning, and I reach out to scratch his ears.

Today I will complete the wand and that will be the end of the easy bit.

"Tea and toast," I say, finally getting to my feet. Padfoot lopes out of the room and I don't know if I'll see him again any time soon. I take a quick shower and dress before going down to breakfast. While I am sitting at the kitchen table, going through the paper, I hear the bath running. That is a first. Sirius has had a handful of showers since he's been here, and Padfoot only ever bathes in the river. I am cautiously optimistic about this development.

By the time Sirius joins me in the workshop, I have already added the thestral hair core - an incredibly fiddly process, even with magic. The wand is sealed and I am teasing the inherent magic through the wood. There are clear markings showing already. It's almost ready to be used.

Sirius is restless and keeps getting in my light.

"Sit," I say firmly, amazingly he does. I glance up at him, an apology dying on my lips at the sight of the flush to his cheeks. I need to concentrate on what I'm doing, but my mouth is dry and I am fighting the too familiar shiver of arousal. It's becoming worse - the waxing moon is partly to blame, but certainly not all. I bite back the desire to snap at him to leave me alone.

It takes hours and Sirius remains seated, perfectly still, the entire time. When I next look up the sun has moved far enough round to indicate that it's late afternoon.

"I'm hungry," I say, putting the wand down on the workbench.

Sirius picks it up rubbing his finger over the carved markings. There are two distinct sections: the top affecting a spiral of circled dots, the base is squared with rune like markings on each of the four sides, though they are not any runes I have ever seen.

Sirius picks up the wand and rubs his thumb over the markings and laughs, a deep, rich sound that brings tears to my tired eyes.

"You cheeky bastard," he says.

I frown at him in confusion. "What is it?" I ask.

"More or less human," he says, indicating the markings.

Recognition jolts me.

Sirius and I had, in the third year, created our own language for fun during History of Magic lessons. I was enthralled with the idea of it, having read The Lord of the Rings over the summer hols. For whatever reason, it was something that we never shared with the others. I remember them asking what we'd been doing, maybe a little jealously, and Sirius would just shrug their questions off. They knew not to bother asking me, and I hugged that secret to me along with the knowledge of my hopeless infatuation with Sirius Black.

I don't know what to say to him. I didn't write that intentionally though I never forgot our secret language. I sometimes picture the symbols as I write, and I know the original alphabet is in the attic in my old school trunk.

My eyes are prickling with tears. It occurs to me that my intention, in making a wand was to turn my attention to a project that would stop me from facing every suppressed emotion threatening to surface with Sirius's arrival.

But here it is, a tsunami of feeling choking me. I flee, there's no other word to describe it. I seek calm in the comfortable rituals of tea making and wool gathering.

~*~

Sirius doesn't join me for lunch, and when I return to the workshop he has disappeared. Padfoot's off chasing birds again as Prongs would have said with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. I wonder if he ever realised how far off the mark he was. Sirius never showed any interest in any of the girls who followed him with their eyes wherever he went. Sometimes I looked at the girls, trying to imagine what it would be like to ask one out and maybe kiss them. I was comforted by the thought that I did find some of them attractive - the fact that the girls I liked all bore some resemblance to Sirius didn't bother me in the slightest. At least I _could_ say that I fancied a girl and point them out, if anyone asked.

I finish the wand, placing it inside a box for safekeeping.

Sirius still isn't back when I return to the house and put on the supper. We're down to basics - potato and leek soup with bread and butter. I shall have to go to the village tomorrow to get supplies.

I only really start worrying about Sirius when it gets dark. Perhaps I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. I go to the front door and look out at the moonlit fields stretching away from my little cottage in all directions. His scent is hours old, heading in the direction of the forest. I could track him, but there's no obvious sign of distress.

I stand there for several more minutes, scenting the air and listening. I don't think he'll be back tonight, but I leave the door on the latch anyway, and he can get through my wards.

I put the soup in the fridge and leave a note for him on the table, just in case, then go up to bed.

It takes a long time for me to get to sleep. I feel his absence.

~*~

Sirius is already seated at the kitchen table when I come down for breakfast, the next day. He appears weary, leaning heavily on the table with his head drooping. The box I placed the wand in is open and he is staring at it, lying dormant on its cushion of velvet.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," I say.

Sirius waves my apology away. "You needed some space and I..." He doesn't say anything more, but he smells of Buckbeak and wild things.

"What do you think?" I ask.

"It's beautiful," he says.

"Do you think you can use it?"

He takes the wand from the box. If I didn't know him, I wouldn't see the hesitation or notice the slight tremble in his fingers before he adjusts his grip. He stands, turning his back to me and gives a swish and a flick and nothing happens.

"Well, that didn't go as well as hoped," he says. He puts the wand firmly on the table.

I stand up, catching the wand and placing it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it and guiding him through the swish and flick of Wingardium Leviosa. Magic explodes from the wand, sending my mother's best china crashing to the ground, splintering into a million tiny fragments. Sirius cries out, an anguished sound and steps back, knocking into me.

I let go of his hand and retrieve my own wand to repair the china. "Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with your magic, as such, just your control. What... what did it feel like?"

He laughs, hollow and humourless. "It feels like being a teenager again," he says.

"Are you ready for another go?" I ask. We both know that if he puts the wand down now, it'll take even more to pick it up again. He hesitates, and I ask, "What is it that you're afraid of?" He shakes his head but doesn't answer straight away. "I'll put the kettle on," I say, but he stops me.

"I'm... _furious_. I don't understand why I trusted Peter more than I trusted you, I don't understand how he could do what he did - not to James. He worshipped Prongs. And I'm..." His hands are balled into fists by his sides, white knuckled. He clenches his jaw, holding back whatever he wants to say.

"We all underestimated Peter. Or overestimated our importance to him and his loyalty to us. It doesn't matter-"

He splutters and I lay a quelling hand on his arm.

"Tell me what you're feeling, please," I say, firmly, not wishing to argue.

"It feels like everything is trying to get out at once. It's like a million needles trying to pierce my skin from the inside out. And just now, with a focal point for all that energy... it felt as though it was going to take me off my feet. I feel as though I could destroy this cottage without even trying."

"I'm going to put the kettle on and then we're going to work on this." There is that sense of purpose spurring me onwards. It makes me feel lighter, more sure of myself and what I am to do. "There's nothing wrong with your magic that can't be sorted out."

Sirius drinks his tea so quickly it must scald his tongue. The change in his energy is palpable. Where he was drooping over the table when I came in, now he is alert, poised for action... waiting. Waiting for me. The rush of that knowledge makes my nerves buzz.

The kitchen is filled to the brim with barely contained excitement.

~*~

Sirius takes up his new wand and this time it seems that the tremor is one of excitement, but the result is the same wild and explosive magic and Sirius growls in frustration.

I ask him again, "what does it feel like?"

"I don't know. What do you mean?" He is snappy, but I know it's irritation with himself. "I can't hold back."

Wingardium Leviosa is a simple spell, requiring the least amount of concentration. Sirius seems to be here, but I can tell he is listening, straining to hear noises outside of the kitchen, scenting the air. His senses are more like that of Padfoot's than of a wizard who has command of his environment and the magic inherent in it.

His focus is so scattered, it's not surprising that when he does manage to bring it back to one place for a moment that it's overwhelming. On the run and spending his time as a dog without a wand, he would have had to use his senses that way.

With my heart in my mouth I say, "do you trust me, Sirius?"

He gives me a dark look, and I honestly have no idea how he is going to reply. "Of course," he says. "What are you thinking?"

I explain my theory, and then I take a deep breath. "I want to try something, if you are alright with it: I want to try limiting your senses... blindfolding, covering your ears, that sort of thing."

Sirius opens his mouth to speak and I stop him.

"You can think about it for a bit, the full moon is tomorrow night."

His relief is palpable, but I'm fairly sure that he will say yes to this. He's not the only one who needs time to think about it and get used to the idea, before putting it into practise.

~*~

The lead up to the full moon is far easier with the Wolfsbane potion. I am fortunate to receive a new supply every month, from Snape. After what happened, I had assumed that I would be cut off - the potion is expensive and I am nothing... I'm not contributing anything at this moment, other than to rattle around this cottage, drinking tea and waiting to be called to action.

I would still do what I need to do even without the potion. I hope that Dumbledore knows that.

Padfoot is waiting for me when I retire to bed the night of the full moon. He is sitting in the corner that the wolf usually occupies. I fight the lump in my throat.

I undress and put my clothes away in the wardrobe, but I don't bother with putting pyjamas on. I have no wish for any of my clothes to be shabbier than they already are, even bedclothes.

Padfoot whines at me as I settle down next to him on the floor, nuzzling my hand, until I pet him. It helps. Even with the potion there is always the fear that it might not work as well this time. But Padfoot is different, he speaks to something deeper. He is licking my chest, over my heart. He knows the instant the transformation begins, at the moment I feel the first tug.

Transformation with Wolfsbane is like being awake but anaesthetised: I can still feel my bones break and twist and lengthen, but the pain is reduced to a dull ache. It still appears violent for an outsider to witness, of course, but I don't feel the need to scream.

My earliest memories are of being attacked and the first transformation, shut up in that room at the Ministry. I had never been away from my parents before, and I didn't understand why they wouldn't let me come home with them when I cried that I didn't want to stay there. That place was closed down in the eighties in favour of a specialist facility. I don't know if it is any better.

With the potion I am Remus John Lupin, lucid and in control, but I can still feel the wolf, even if it is too drunk to want to do anything more than sleep. It smells Padfoot and I feel it's desire to fuck its packmate. Thankfully this time I am in control and force that feeling down.

Padfoot sleeps close, his furry body pressed against the wolf.

The morning after is always hard, even with the Wolfsbane everything hurts. Sirius helps me up from the floor and I limp to the bathroom.

"Sit down, I'll do it," he says, when I go to run a bath. I am in no state to argue and sit on the lid of the toilet while he adds the Muggle muscle soak and gets the temperature right.

I don't object when he helps me in, though it's not entirely necessary. It's not as though I haven't done all of this by myself before.

He kneels by the side of the bath, his arms resting on the side, when he says, "I do trust you, Moony." His voice is quiet, measured. I can tell that he's been thinking about what it means to trust me like this again. Neither of us is naive enough to believe it couldn't happen again. "I trust you with my life," he says.

I close my eyes and sink down further into the bath. "Then we'll begin tomorrow," I say.

It's a quiet day, and I'm fit for not much more than sitting and reading. Sirius spends most of his time as Padfoot, but something tells me it's more for my benefit than his. He lets me stroke him for hours. Sometimes his ears prick up or his nose twitches, his eyes darting to the window or the door, but he doesn't leave for more than a few minutes at a time.

It's a strange thing... this intimacy.

That night Padfoot lies at the foot of the bed again, though he is careful not to squash my feet.

~*~

I wrap my mother's best silk scarf around Sirius's head, covering his eyes. It's white with an Escher-esque pattern of black and white birds in flight.

"Is that alright?" I ask, tying off the knot at the back. "Not too tight?"

Sirius touches the scarf, smoothing his hands over it. "It's fine," he says.

I can't use magic on Sirius or fill his ears. He needs to be able to hear me and I don't want anything that could panic him, so I cast a privacy charm around us which filters the sound coming in. The only things we'll hear are the wards or if protection charms if, say, the house was burning down, and Sirius knows those sounds. Another layer of wards filters the out any strange smells.

It's not perfect, Merlin knows nothing about any of this is perfect...

"I'm going to move behind you, Sirius." He nods. I put my hand over his wand hand and move round, resting my hand on his bony hip.

He's wearing a pair of my trousers that he's taken in himself, with a needle and thread. I don't know where he learnt that, but there are some things that don't need to be prodded and poked at.

When I close my eyes, I can feel my own magic, the magic that surrounds me and I can feel how out of control Sirius's magic is. It rushes through him and swirls, sliding under and over itself. It's like a sea buffeted by the storm of Sirius's emotions.

I keep my voice low and steady, and it does calm him. His breathing slows and evens out.

"Can you feel your magic?" I ask.

His voice is gruff as he says, "yes."

"Imagine a constant circuit of your body that your magic has to travel around. And breathe."

Sirius does as he's told.

"Together," I say. "Wingardium Leviosa."

The first three times the feather gets thrown around in the storm as Sirius loses control of his magic the minute he reaches outside of himself. After each attempt I tell Sirius to centre himself again and imagine the circuit.

On the fourth attempt, the feather rises. Sirius's heart is racing and mine matches it. I hold tight to his hip, but I don't need to.

It's like we are two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly. Sirius's back is pressed against my chest, so close I can feel each individual knobble of his spine. He must be able to feel my heart beat and the ridges of my ribs.

I rub my hand over Sirius's hip. "Can you feel it?" I ask.

He nods, swallowing twice. "Yes... Moony." He turns his head to the side, the feather drops and Sirius's breath caresses my neck.

All the hairs on my body rise and the magic is flowing between us, as though we are one circuit for it. I should stop, I know. I should nip this in the bud before anything happens.

I kiss him slowly. I know he's expecting it, but it's still a relief that Sirius doesn't flinch or pull away or question this. I let go of his wand hand and touch his face. And... God help me, it's like coming home.

He turns to face me, wrapping his arms around me. We stay like that, just kissing for I don't know how long. I'm hard, achingly so, and so is he, but we don't take advantage yet.

I pull away from him, but I can't speak. I don't want to pull the blindfold off, but I need to see his eyes.

He blinks a few times, focusing on my face. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Did you... I mean, how did it feel that time? The magic."

"Do you want an honest answer?" Sirius asks.

"Of course," I say.

"It turned me on. It always has."

Sirius always could make me blush and laugh, and now I'm doing both. "Alright, in that case, do you think you're ready to get a good charm off?"

"There's only one way to find out."

He's still wildly out of control to begin with, casting erratically. After a couple of hours he's starting to master the charms he was always good at.

He transfigures the wand box into a cup that matches the ones on the dresser. Transfiguration was always his best subject.

By the time we stop for lunch he is exhilarated.

"It's all coming back," he says, enthusiastically tearing into the bread and cheese. "We should have a duel."

I roll my eyes. "Think you can handle me, dog breath?" I leer across the table.

"Bring it on wolf boy." He says laughing.

~*~

Sirius is so graceful. Even when he's fucking it up, he moves like a dancer. It was something James, Peter and I never managed - that ease of movement. He is really fucking it up though.

His hexes are wild and overzealous, taking great chunks out of the field and sending the birds flying for the cover of the forest - thank Merlin we couldn't do this indoors - and his defensive spells are non-existent. I've put him on his backside so many times I don't think the mud will come out of the seat of those trousers. He looks marvellous though. Beautiful. Sexy as fuck. And he knows it and he loves it.

I watch Sirius as he telegraphs his intention for casting yet another hex and I flick an Incarcerous in his direction. I lift his hands above him with another flick. He is struggling against the bonds when I realise what I've done.

"Oh my God, Sirius, I'm sorry," I say, casting Finite and going to him. "Are you alright? I wasn't thinking."

He looks confused for a moment, then annoyed. "I'm fine, stop fussing." He's flushed and breathing hard. My anxiety is exactly the wrong thing at this moment.

He looks annoyed. "I'm fine, stop fussing." He's flushed and breathing hard, and I get the strange feeling that he enjoyed it.

He stalks off before I can say anything else. He is heading for the forest I think. But then he turns and looks at me.

"I'm not made of glass," he says. "I won't break. I'm not scared of being hurt."

That's so typical of Sirius, I have to suppress a bitter laugh. He's so bloody arrogant, and oblivious to the fact that it would kill me to hurt him. Physically, anyway. Apparently there is no end to the amount of pain we can inflict on one another emotionally.

I run my hand through my hair. It makes me think of Prongs. I know what he'd have done. "It's not that... Let's go again, if you think you can take it." I take up my duelling stance, waiting. I half expect Sirius to turn and go anyway, but he takes his position.

"Time to show me what you're made of, Moon Child." He knows I hate it when he calls me that.

This time when I knock him over, I send him flying. He gets up and dusts himself off.

I feel a queasy sort of revulsion at myself, but I force myself to grin at him. "Need a hand, old man?"

Sirius sticks his fingers up at me, but there's that stone cold determination in his expression. I need to be on my guard.

Sirius doesn't play by the rules. Duelling is a gentleman's game. This is more like curse tag with suicidal tendencies.

He runs straight at me, letting out a war cry, casting curse after curse. I throw off one and dodge three of the five he gets off in quick succession. But with the last, pain sears through my left side and I have to switch my wand to my right hand. There's no blood, thank God, but it shocks me enough to rattle off a curse that knocks Sirius down and keeps him there far too long.

My eyes sting and I think _You stupid fucker, Sirius, you stupid bloody wanker._ I run over to him, holding my side, wand poised to attack again if he should be faking it.

He's not. A wave of sickness washes over me. There is blood. What seems like an entire river of it. I retch, but hold on to the contents of my stomach by sheer force of will. I have to make sure he's alright.

I kneel by his side, ripping his shirt open. It's not as bad as I'd feared. There is a shallow cut above his navel, easy to heal. But he's stunned from the force of my curses.

"Sirius, can you talk?"

"Of course I can talk." He's angry again, perhaps that's a good sign.

"I think we should stop for the day."

I help him up and he leans heavily on me.

"Well, that could have gone better," he says.

I raise my eyebrows even though he isn't looking at me. "Do you think? I mean, to be honest, you haven't used magic for over twelve years - if you don't count trying to kill... if you don't count the one time you really had to. It's just going to take a little while to properly get the hang of it again. But it's all there, you did something... my side aches. I'm still having difficulty breathing."

Sirius stops, stock still in the middle of the field. I turn to see why. He looks terrible: pale and sweaty, and he's shaking like a leaf.

"I hurt you?" he asks.

"Isn't this what you wanted? Something real. It's hardly fair to expect me to hurt you if you're not willing to do the same."

"I didn't think it would work."

I close my eyes and count to ten. It doesn't help. "I love you, Sirius, but sometimes you are such a pain in the arse."

Both of us stop breathing, it seems for a moment like the whole world holds its breath.

I know what I said and I won't take it back. It's true and, God help me, perhaps if I'd told him that before - or at least let him know, somehow - then we wouldn't have lost so very much.

Sirius leans in towards me. His dry lips find mine and we kiss... we kiss like teenagers: all passion and tongues and harsh breaths. I'm harder than I've been in half a lifetime in about five seconds flat.

"I want you, God, Sirius I want you so much... please..."

He hushes me with another kiss that seems to last for an eternity. "Of course I want you, I never stopped."

I Disapparate us, heedless of our injuries, straight to my bedroom.

I push Sirius down on the bed, getting smears of blood on the blankets. It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

We each remove our own clothes, discarding them on the floor.

I need to touch him. Lying down on the bed, next to him, I smooth my hand over his grimy sweaty skin. Both of us are filthy and we smell of our earlier exertions. It only seems to heighten our desire.

His body is pale and slender, he is tall and long limbed, and covered in so many tattoos it makes my head spin. I recognise some of them as runes, but others are alien to me. I touch each one and feel the magic running through them. It's powerful stuff.

Sirius is in no mood for my interest in his tattoos. He rolls over on top of me, pinning my arms and rutting against me, frantically.

I throw off his hands, grasping his hips and bringing him crashing down on top of me.

"Fuck me," Sirius says. "I need you to fuck me right now."

"Only if you let me do it properly. I've had enough of pain for one day - yours and mine."

Sirius acquiesces, rolling off to the side. "Just do it," he says. His eyes are closed and I know he is trying to hide his need from me.

"I want you to look at me, Sirius," I say, soft but firm.

It is breathtaking. The depth of his emotion is vivid in his grey eyes. He looks a moment from falling apart and I'm not even touching him any more.

I take a bottle of lubricant from my bedside drawer. His hole is tightly furled. I wonder if anyone ever touched him in Azkaban, but I quickly have to push that question aside. I press a finger inside and he grunts softly.

I'm not a boy any more. I know what will feel good and what will feel wonderful. His hips lift off the bed completely as I find his prostate and rub a slow tender circle and he swears.

"Fuck! Oh Merlin, fuck. Moony... fuck me. Please... please." Sirius never begs. I've never known him to, anyway. It's strange - I feel powerful, but it doesn't feel wrong. I have every intention of giving him what he wants... just not right away.

His cock is leaking glistening pre-come and when he jerks and twists - trying to get me to finger him _harder, faster, more, anything, please_ \- it slaps against his belly leaving damp spots.

I haven't touched his cock at all yet and when he reaches for it, I push his hand away. He moans, pressing his head back into the pillow. I could make him come like this, but I don't think he realises that is a possibility. He's... somehow he's still a boy.

He writhes and begs and presses his head further and further into the pillow, his back bowed, his cock jutting forward. I want to taste him, but I also want to fuck him and he's too far gone to take much more.

I slick my cock with more lubricant and press against him. He moans and pushes against me. God, he was always like this: so impatient to be getting on with it, careless of any discomfort.

I hold myself back as long as I can, though everything in me is desperate to just go - just pump mindlessly, as hard and fast as I can.

Sirius hooks his feet over the backs of my thighs. I'm dripping sweat onto him. I imagine I can hear it sizzle when it hits the tattoos on his chest. I kiss him, tasting his darkness and his light. The scruff of his two day beard chafes against my chin and cheeks.

"Touch yourself now," I say, when I can feel the tension building inside me. He's there with me, chasing a release, reaching between us to jerk himself off hard and fast, aching for it. Every breath out is a moan of need. Every breath in a sharp gasp of air and I am pounding into him hard and fast, my balls full and tight.

He comes first, so hard it spatters up to his chest, painting him in coppery smelling splotches of white that I lean down and lick from him.

"Oh, fuck you, Moony, fuck you," he says, wide eyed and still shivering as I suck his right nipple clean.

The taste of him combined with the feel of his arsehole clenching around my cock and the intense smell of him in the air, all pull my own release from me while I'm buried deep inside him.

~*~

We have to get up again for supper, though Sirius elects to merely drag on a pair of my underpants rather than getting fully dressed.

He makes massive doorstep sandwiches with ham and pickle, while I make a pot of tea. We sit close together, both of us unable to resist touching the other as often as possible.

I crave it – this intimacy. The infrequent times I found myself seeking out the company of someone else... anyone else, to alleviate the desperate loneliness, don't count for much in the twelve years that we lost. Nothing comes close to it.

Without the urgency of earlier, I'm free to look at every bit of decoration Sirius gathered in Azkaban. There is a lot to take in, most I have no idea of. But in among all the strange symbols and the words that I don't recognise, there is the first tattoo he ever got.

It was the first summer after we left Hogwarts. James and Lily had just got engaged. We were out celebrating and letting off some steam before the shit hit the fan, as Peter used to say.

Somehow we all wound up at a Muggle tattoo parlour. Sirius and James were the instigators, of course. Sirius was leaning over the front desk, flirting with a massive bloke who seemed to be a walking advertisement for his trade. Ten minutes later Sirius had convinced the man to close up and do us all for a bargain price.

Sirius went first, the words _up to no good_ being tattooed low on his abdomen. So low that when he pulled his Levis down his pubic hair was visible over the waistband.

I was being eaten up, watching him, but nothing could have made me turn away. The bloke, whose name was Ivan, seemed to take great pleasure in wiping away the excess ink each time, and I could tell that Sirius was enjoying it from the obvious bulge in his jeans.

James got Lily's name tattooed on his chest, over his heart. I was fairly certain that didn't last long, once he got home. Peter and I both chickened out in the end.

Sirius disappeared with Ivan into a back room to make payment. I hoped his tattoo would hurt like buggery, ironically enough. I desperately tried not to think about him being bent over a desk in a dingy back room and fucked mercilessly. I failed. James kept patting me on the back, so I guess he might have known how I felt about Sirius even if he didn't know that we were fucking at every opportunity we got.

When they came back Ivan looked dazed and Sirius was smug. I swallowed down the fury, squashing it into the smallest box I could imagine and hiding it behind a sardonic smile. Sirius and I didn't sleep together that night. Or for more than a week, in fact.

Sirius refused to accept that he'd done anything to apologise for and somehow it ended up being my fault.

How strange that here we are, all these years on, and I can still feel that white hot pain in my chest, the choking certainty that I was losing him and the frantic need to try and hold on to him with no idea how.

I rub my fingers over the words and Sirius puts his hand over mine. I half expect him to move my hand, but he just holds it there for a moment. His hand is surprisingly warm, and it is rough with callouses.

"What do they all mean?" I ask.

Sirius shrugs. "Most of them are about intimidation. Gang affiliation, that kind of thing. Protection." He scratches his shoulder absently.

I don't know why it comes as such a shock. I trace the shape of a rune that I recognise. "Not all of them," I say.

"No, not all of them."

He brings my hand round to his left side, up high, just below his armpit, I can feel something. I stroke my fingers over it again and again. "What is it?"

He lifts his arm up high so I can see what he's carved into his own skin.

"You," he says, then guides my hand slightly lower. "James, Lily, Harry... I didn't want to forget."

There is a flower for Lily, a lightning bolt for Harry and a pair of antlers, surrounding them. Above them is a crescent moon and nestled inside is something he didn't mention - a star, touching tip to tip. I stare at them for a long time.

He puts his foot up on my chair, between my legs and guides my hand down to a spot just above his ankle where the word _rat_ is carved into his skin. "This is a reminder to kill Pettigrew." He looks at me steadily. "I am going to."

I nod. If there's any way at all, I believe he will.

~*~

We bathe together after dancing around the subject long enough for it to grow dark outside.

Sirius leans back against me, his head on my shoulder while I sponge him clean. He turns and kisses my cheek while I stroke his chest.

The next morning, I wake early. Sirius is still sleeping – in repose he looks heart-breakingly young. Handsome to my eyes, but for the mess of his beard and long, matted hair that reaches his shoulders. In contrast I look every one of my thirty-five years.

I have to get up to piss, then I go down to make the first cup of tea of the day. Mist is rising from the fields and I can feel the change in the weather. It's going to be hot.

Sirius joins me shortly after, picking bits and pieces from the fridge and the fruit bowl to eat as he wanders round the kitchen in circles.

"I thought we should work on your defensive spells today," I say.

He pulls a face and shoves a rolled up piece of ham into his mouth.

"Alright, what do _you_ want to work on?"

He comes over and presses against my thigh. His cock is soft, but as he grinds against me he quickly gets hard.

"What do you think?" he asks, laughing.

I raise an eyebrow at him, stilling him with a hand on his hip. "No, that comes later, after you've practiced."

He huffs. "I should have started with a kiss."

I kiss him softly on the lips. "It wouldn't make any difference, my love."

He stares at me for a moment and I think he's going to argue, but he just goes and gets ready.

Sirius's defensive spells are atrocious. They never were his strong suit. It goes against the grain.

"There's something wrong with this fucking wand," Sirius says, glaring at me.

I wonder if it's true. The use of thestral hair as a core was a gamble on my part. I've never heard of it being used before, but it _felt_ right. I believe he can master the wand if he wants to. I put my hand over his.

"I'll start again," I say. "Maybe it's the core."

Sirius jerks his hand away. "There's nothing wrong with the core... It's not the wand, it's me."

His frustration hangs heavy in the stifling air. It's eleven o'clock and it feels like a hot, damp blanket has been laid over everything. I can smell him, this close to – the faint tang of fear and the heavy musk of sweat. I lick a trail of sweat from his brow and he grips my head, pulling me in for a hard kiss.

An owl interrupts us, landing on Sirius's shoulder. It's Harry's owl, Hedwig. Sirius takes the letter and strokes her feathers. He takes a letter from his pocket and attaches it to her outstretched leg. "Thank you," he says, offering her a treat. I leave him to read the letter alone.

Half an hour later the front door slams announcing his return to the cottage.

"We have to get him out of that house," he says.

"What's happened?" I ask.

"Nothing! Nothing that he hasn't had to put up with his whole life. I'm going to kill them." He is pale, shaking with rage. The crockery shudders on the dresser.

I want to touch him, to comfort him, but I know he won't let me. He is practically snarling.

"Sit down," I say, but he's in no mood to listen.

"What right has Dumbledore to send him back there year after year? I'm Harry's Godfather. I can look after him better than they can. _They don't even want him_." His voice rises to a crescendo.

"I know," I say, because it's true – no matter how ill equipped we are, Harry's Aunt and Uncle shouldn't be allowed anywhere near him. But there's nothing to be done. Dumbledore won't let him leave that house and I trust him when he says he has good reason.

Besides and if we were to take Harry and anything were to happen... We've made too much of a mess of our own lives as it is.

Sirius lets out a yell of frustration and transforms into Padfoot, running from the cottage. I go to the front door and watch him race into the distance, the birds take off, screaming and crying as if they can feel his anguish.

I go back in and sit down at the table with my head in my hands. I think about writing to Dumbledore and begging him to let Harry come and visit at least.

It takes me a long time to come up with something that might work to secure Dumbledore's agreement.

My heart is in my mouth waiting for Padfoot to come back. It's dark before I hear the clack-clack of his claws against the flagstones.

"Padfoot... Sirius, please."

Sirius transforms back into himself. He is filthy with bits of twigs and leaves caught in his hair.

"I might have an idea," I say. "Don't... don't get too excited. It probably won't work."

"We're going to steal him," Sirius says, forcefully. His eyes look huge and filled with a fevered mania that reminds me of his cousin Bellatrix. He can't sit down - wearing a path back and forth in front of the hearth.

"No, we're not going to do that," I say. He levels me with a furious look, so full of hate that I press back further into the chair. "You gave Grimmauld Place to the Order, didn't you?"

"So what?" Sirius growls at me. "I wouldn't go back there if you paid me."

"Even if Harry was there?"

He stops his relentless pacing and looks up at me, startled. I can see him struggling to believe that it might be so simple.

I don't know that it is. We haven't heard a word from Dumbledore or the Order since the beginning of summer. I'm not sure why we're here, only that it's part of Dumbledore's plans. But it feels like we've been forgotten... or... or perhaps we are meant to forget. Here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but each other.

I have to go and make some tea. My head is spinning. I trust... I have to trust Dumbledore. Maybe it's just paranoia, but I don't think that us being here is such a good idea any more.

Love in the asylum...

Sirius disappears upstairs a little while after, and I hear him run the water for a bath. I suppose neither of us is hungry for supper.

I take a sheet of parchment and write to Dumbledore, suggesting that all of us might be better off somewhere else. I don't name all my fears. I'm not sure if I expect an answer or not.

Sirius is in my bed. He's trimmed his beard and washed and cut his hair. He is asleep, I think, his hand resting on my pillow. I try not to wake him, sliding in under the sheet.

"Your feet are cold," he says.

I stroke his arm, rest my hand above his waist, kiss him and move closer. We move in synchronisation, an undulating wave of desire that ebbs and flows but never ceases its relentless pull.

~*~

The days pass. The temperature rises. We open all the windows in the cottage and close all the curtains. Flagstone floors are good for holding cooling charms, but the heat rises and my bedroom is stifling all the time.

We sleep downstairs in the living room, on a futon transfigured from my father's wingback chair.

Sirius practises his spell casting every day in the garden, until he's dripping with sweat, then comes inside to practise some more.

When it happens, it's all so sudden: an owl arrives with a letter from Dumbledore and Sirius tries to grab it from me.

"Wait," I say, sharper than I meant to, but remarkably he does. I open the letter and skim the contents, very aware of Sirius's anxiety. "We've been called in."

"What does it say? Is Harry going to be there?"

"It doesn't say anything about Harry." Sirius shouts and thumps his fist against the table. "It wouldn't, would it?"

Sirius grabs on to me, his fingers digging into my arms as though I'm the only thing anchoring him to the earth. "What _does_ it say?"

"If there is a plan to get him out, we'll soon know. We leave tonight, at two."

Sirius stills. The kitchen clock tick-tick-ticks on. I don't know what he's thinking.

"Sirius?"

"Yes... I'm alright."

He lets go and I feel his distance as more than just physical. He's shutting me out.

"No," I say. I grab his arm. "Don't... I love him to. It doesn't have to be just you."

"What?"

"You made a choice. Just then. You let me go."

He looks at me in confusion, as if he doesn't know what I'm talking about and I realise that he has _no idea_. I know because I felt it before. He let me go, and I let him push me away.

"I..." The words stick in my throat. "I won't let you shut me out again. There is no reason to."

He looks lost. "What are you talking about? When did I ever shut you out?"

"It doesn't matter any more. that was in the past. What matters is here and now. What are you thinking? That Harry won't be able to handle the idea of his Godfather being queer?"

Sirius reels from the directness of the question, and I can't believe I have it right.

"He has enough to deal with, without worrying-"

"Why should he worry about that? If anything, with all that he's been through he's far more likely to be open minded about it, don't you think?"

He has that stubborn look I remember from our school days.

"Sirius, we are going to be living in the same house together. Everyone is far more likely to notice if we never speak to one another. It's not like you need to shout it from the rooftops and even you can be discrete when necessary."

Watching his expressive face, I can't help but wonder if I am setting us all up for a fall. The war is only just beginning. None of us is safe – Cedric Diggory was proof of that. All the more reason to take what we can from life while we're still able.

I go up to pack my shabby old trunk. Sirius, who has nothing to pack, has wandered outside into the orange tinged evening. I watch him from the bedroom window, as he walks along the edge of a rippling field of wheat.

A movement above him catches my eye. A small flock of birds is flying back and forth, weaving around each other. As I watch more and more birds join the flock, until the form a great undulating, pulsating mass, preparing to roost. It's a familiar sight: a murmuration of starlings. Though it's too early for them by a month or so.

Sirius is standing, watching them, swirling his wand in an approximation of their movement. His hand drops, suddenly, by his side and when I look again the flock is gone.

~~***~~

**Author's Note:**

> Researching wandlore and knowing the Marauders and their propensity for doing the impossible, I took the liberty of giving Sirius the wandcore he has. Please forgive me if it's a liberty I've taken too far!


End file.
